Liam in Love
by Lady Berenice
Summary: Based on Katherine Kurtz's 'Deryni' series. King Liam of Torenth is in love. She's beautiful, intelligent, rich, and loves him too. What's the problem? Well, for a start, the last question really should be a plural...
1. The Embassy

Liam in Love

Based on the Deryni Series by Katherine Kurtz. Liam of Torenth is under pressure to marry, and yet the only woman he loves has a family that doesn't think that a King is good enough for her…Spin-off from my 'Kalasin' Series over at the 'Tamora Pierce' section. 

King Liam of Torenth is in love. She's intelligent, beautiful, brave, magical, royal, and likes him very much. There's only one problem. Her family have definite objections to a barbarian king like Liam…so _why_ are they sending her to visit him?

Disclaimer: Not that it makes any legal difference when it comes to copyright infringement actions, but, for what it's worth, Katherine Kurtz's characters, places, and plotlines belong to her, Tamora Pierce's characters, places, and plotlines belong to her, and my things belong to me. 

Year: According to the Imperial calendar, early 2825. According to the calendar of the Eleven Kingdoms, 1134.

THE EMBASSY

Liam-Lajos II, or, to give him his full name, Liam-Lajos Lionel Laszlo Furstan d'Arjenol, King of Torenth, had been invested with the crown of Torenth six years ago, and had technically borne the title of King for four years before that. 

That meant that at the age of twenty, Liam had been the ruler of Torenth for half his life. It was on that particular fact that Liam was pondering as he sat in Council, half-listening to Erdody of Jandrich as that notable droned on about tariffs on irongoods, and waiting for the inevitable subject that had featured in every Council meeting for almost as long as Liam had sat in Council. 

"Your Majesty, I know you tire of this subject, but you must give thought to a consort, and heirs of your body." 

Right on schedule. Liam wondered if he should start timing his meetings, so he would know exactly when this topic came up. It was the turn of Patriarch Alpheios today. Liam's Councillors took it in turns to bring the subject up, maintaining the polite fiction that it was not a particular obsession with each and every one of them. 

Liam sighed and straightened up. This part was well-worn territory too. "Holiness, I am sensible of the concerns of all the worthies present at this table, and indeed, of most of Torenth. The fact remains, however, gentlemen, that there is presently not one lady who would make a suitable Queen Consort of Torenth. Though it is not a subject that I, especially, wish to dwell upon, we have had amble evidence of the ruin that can result from having an unsuitable Queen Regent. No, I shall not take that risk, gentlemen. I shall not be swayed by a pretty face or a promising alliance if the lady shows no suitability as a Queen. I am well content that until that occurs, my Uncle Matyas shall be King of Torenth after me, and after him, his sons, my cousins Arkady and Lorant." 

Liam's younger brother, Ronal-Rurik, had, at least, managed to have the grace to get himself killed in a duel with a jealous husband the previous year, at the age of fifteen. Though Liam had loved his brother, a coldly calculating part of him had been relieved – Ronal was starting to become uncannily similar to Prince Conall of Gwynedd, cousin to King Kelson who was their neighbour, ally, and former overlord – and it saved Liam from having to take preventative measures of his own. 

"…and you should have sons of your own, to follow you," someone else muttered. "Your Majesty, at least in this, we would not object to you emulating Kelson Haldane. He, at least, was married twice, and had two sons before he was your age."

That was a slight exaggeration. Kelson's first marriage, which Liam conceded had taken place when his friend and mentor was seventeen, lasted barely a minute (the bride was murdered by her brother). His second had taken place at twenty-one, and had lasted scarcely long enough for twin sons to be born, as his wife died in childbed. 

Liam's neighbour had shown not the slightest inclination towards matrimony since. Liam was not at all surprised. 

But Liam had to concede the point. He was twenty years old, and a reigning King. It was well nigh unthinkable that such a situation would persist. It ought not to have. In any other situation, Liam would have long since surrendered, married the first marginally attractive, passably articulate, reasonably-dowered girl his advisors threw in his general direction, and settled down to breed heirs. They would hardly speak to each other, occupy different worlds, and occasionally meet to produce the said necessary heirs. After that was done, he would concentrate on affairs of state, perhaps tumble a fetching lady-in-waiting or two, or keep a ravishing mistress or three, and she would languish in the Women's Quarters, bored out of her mind, and amusing herself with fluffy little lapdogs, embroidery, and an occasional discreet affair with one of his more gormless nobles. That was what happened. That was what Liam had accepted would happen, even in his hopelessly romantic fourteen-year-old stage. But then, the following year, when he was fifteen, something extraordinary happened.

Liam had met Odette. Beautiful, intelligent, strong, determined, Odette. A cousin of the King of Sarain, his neighbour to the south. But other matters had taken precedence then, and he had been informed that by the laws of her people, she was nowhere near an appropriate age for marriage. He chose to ignore the other intelligence his southern neighbour had given him about it being another half a lifetime before custom could dictate that an junior Imperial princess (for that was what Odette was, for the King was younger brother to the Empress Rislyn, who ruled lands beyond the imaginings of the Eleven Kingdoms) could officially choose a mate.

So, for the last five years, he had…well, not waited…but suddenly, all the previously suitable young ladies paraded before him seemed…lacking. After meeting Odette and her peers, Imperial noblewomen who were knights and warriors as well as ladies, he found that even the most renowned beauties were colourless, dull, lifeless, beside the effervescent and lively Odette. 

"I am aware of the life of our neighbour," Liam said slowly, "but I see no need to follow slavishly where he leads, as all of you have recommended to me time and time again." 

Duke Kaspar made to speak, but mercifully he was interrupted by the entrance of a rather nervous-looking squire. "Your Majesty, you wished to be informed of the arrival of the Embassy of the Empress. They are currently a mile away from the gate of the Field of Kings."

Liam nodded and stood, giving the Council no choice but to follow. 

Diplomatic missions from the vast Empire to their south and east, of which Sarain, their immediate neighbour, was an autonomous client-kingdom (the relationship was actually much more complicated than that, but nobody had bothered to inform Liam of that fact), had been frequent enough in the last five years that the Torenthi Court was reasonably accustomed to the Imperial Ambassadors. Female Ambassadors, to be precise, for, it was apparent that the first few envoys, who had been male, had been assigned merely as a concession to the sensibilities of Torenth and the Eleven Kingdoms, and that the vast majority of the Empress Rislyn's diplomatic service was made up of women. 

Still, the figure dismounting from a tall liver chestnut stallion was not at all expected, even to Liam. 

"The Dama Radanae Gavrillian, Envoy of the Empress Rislyn," the nearest herald announced the woman as she made the short, economical bow which was as much of a obeisance as any Imperial made. 

Liam personally preferred it to all the grand gestures of the Torenthi Court, but he was not going to say it out loud. 

Liam had met the Envoy some five years previous – when he had met Odette, to be precise – member of one of the wealthiest families in the Empire, close friends to the Imperial family, a highly respected stateswoman and scholar. She was in her late twenties, highly intelligent, handsome and elegant, but not even remotely beautiful. Radanae Gavrillian was one of the shining lights of the Empress's diplomatic staff. Her presence here was a huge compliment to Torenth, being so far beyond the seat of Imperial power …or…Liam didn't want to think of the alternatives, of what an Empire with an army that made his own force look like a county militia would take enough of an interest in his land to send such a valuable diplomat to him. 

But that was the object of the visit. Whatever else she represented, whoever else she was, Radanae Gavrillian had just come from a hard journey over the mountains that were the border between Torenth and Sarain, and it would be remiss of Liam not to act least act like a proper host. 

In the stifling late summer heat, Liam envied the Imperials in their lighter dress – short-sleeved, knee-length tunics, elegantly draped mantles, and light sandals – far more sensible than his heavy silks and brocades. His original suspicions were proved correct – this was, so far the most important embassy ever sent by the Empress. There were five other ranking diplomatic knights besides Radanae Gavrillian, four female, one male, evidenced by the similarity of their clothing – all wore tunics and togas of blinding white, with nobles' borders of intricate purple and red trim. They were from wealthy, powerful families too, if their subtle, but unmistakably costly personal jewellery was any guide. Their names flew past – Hephastia Vezzos, Muok-Laré Mo, Kissarli de Emot, Derialione Na Sorda, Cirdir Xianté – exotic and strange to the Torenthi Court, though they would not admit it for shame of being thought backward. At any rate, it was clear for all to see that Radanae Gavrillian was in complete control of the delegation, and it was she who had the most pronounceable name. 

The meeting began with the usual pleasantries and formalities, with the presentation of gifts: fine crystal and glassware, transported over the mountains in heavy chests, wrapped in soft woollens that in Torenth would have been worth as much as the goblets and decanters themselves, porcelain, gauze silks – those things fine and rare that the craftsmen of the Empire made with such skill and delicacy. Liam, his uncle Duke Matyas and Lord Rasoul ibn Tarik, who had travelled to Sarain five years previous, made small talk and inquiries to those they had met then. Yes, they were all well. The Empress's second daughter, young Maralis, was doing well, as was the new prince in Sarain, Ioan, now two years old. No, Radanae herself was not married yet, nor had she any intention of being so in the near future (shocked gasps at that). Princess Berenice (Liam groaned to see how many of his Councillors ears pricked up at the word 'Princess') was happy. She was now High Commander of the Northern Army (faces drooped in disappointment). No, of course they had had no trouble with bandits the past winter. Oh, _had_ their excellencies of Torenth? No, his Majesty of Sarain did not report any such trouble, nor had any of the garrison commanders in the north-west. Yes, the Imperials _must_ patrol more carefully, just in _case_ they have slipped past the border. Noor al-Jedin, Lord Rasoul's niece and an Imperial knight was well, too. She had just finished building a most charming manor house on her new estate. She would be glad of any visitors, why, two nephews were already making plans to come. 

Glad as he was to make conversation about people he had met so briefly all those years ago (but intrigued him, both then and now), Liam's attention wandered as the drinks were refreshed and more substantial food brought. In the summer, there were not the huge formal feasts that were an event in themselves in the winter, but rather simply a succession of food and drink brought in a never-ending stream, to be sampled and enjoyed in the hall, in the courtyards, and in the gardens. Nevertheless, though Imperial diplomats as a rule were a good deal more communicative, and much – for want of a better world – lively – than most, there was only so much small talk and polite waffle he could take. Liam hardly thought himself the image of the brusque, uncouth warrior king, concerned only for battle and blood, but neither was he the vacillitating weakling, always speaking of things but never acting. 

He allowed himself to drift as each of the major members of the delegation found a member of his Council, or another important member of his Court to speak with. He briefly considered joining Radanae Gavrillian and his uncle Matyas in their very animated conversation, but veered well away when it transpired that they were talking about the merits of dark oak against light oak in the making of full-bodied white wine, and whether a sparkling white should be better drunk with a shallow dish-glass or a narrow flute glass. Liam drank wine, and appreciated a good vintage. He didn't see the merit in having an entire conversation about it, as his uncle evidently did. Matyas's only regret in becoming Duke of Arjenol was that he no longer had the time he desired to do strange experimental things to his vineyards. Liam rather irreverently thought that the winegrower's guild ought to be grateful for their King for that, as one who had tasted some of the Duke's experimental concoctions. 

Evidently the escorts of the Imperial diplomats were just as bored as he, for he thought he saw them, resplendent in their dress armour of silvered plate and mail over rich velvets, leathers and silks, escaping at regular intervals – until he realised, when it was different people who returned, that the bodyguards were quietly going about their rotations, without the fanfare and noise that his own considered so necessary. 

He never knew, even years later, whether the silence when she entered the room was coincidental, or whether everyone else was equally struck by her sheer presence. 

It was not simply that she was a woman in armour, and wearing a sword with the confidence of a fully trained warrior on the white belt of a knight. There had been female Imperial 'military' knights sent into Torenth before this – and even with this delegation, where there was one for every three or so male bodyguards – and they had long since been counted as just one more oddity of the Imperials. True, she was dressed no differently from any of her fellows, the only difference of note that she evidently wore her hair long, and braided back from her face into a neat knot at the base of her neck. Dark hair, woven with thin red and purple ribbons, the colours of the Empire. Dark eyes, fringed with long lashes, pale skin, swanlike grace. Liam knew who she was immediately, and was only surprised that she was here at all, considering the last conversation he had had with her and about her. 

Five years and maturity had only served to show that the promise of beauty had been more than fulfilled. Odette – Dama Odette now – for only the daughters and sisters of Empresses held any grander title than that of a knight – stood, arrested for the barest second in the wide doorway, all eyes upon her. 

It was as though time stood still. Liam's heart lurched uncomfortably, but then started again when the rest of the room sprang into feverish life, and Odette, seemingly oblivious to the speculation, moved quietly into the room and took up a position near Dama Radanae. 

He drew near just in time to hear the last few words of her reintroduction to Lord Rasoul and his Uncle Matyas. 

"…Duxa Octa," Dama Radanae was finishing, as Odette bowed slightly to the two older men. 

"A most pleasant surprise, Dama," Uncle Matyas had the most curious, almost self-satisfied look on his face as he greeted the young woman politely. "I gather you do remember my nephew?"

She turned, just as Lord Rasoul made badly-concealed choking noises. 

She was even more beautiful close up. 

Liam was aware that he had stopped breathing. 

"How could I not?" her voice, too, was different – richer, warmer, with the timbre of concentrated musical and elocution training. "It is, of course, a pleasure to see you again, your Majesty." 

Liam forced his lungs to begin functioning again, just as the room around him blurred, concentrated, until all he could see was a tall young woman in the red and purple of the Empire, and gleaming, shining silver. 

"_No_, she's _not_ an Imperial princess," Matyas shot out the side of his mouth to the umpteenth concerned and eager Councillor, "but very nearly so. A first cousin, and one very much beloved by the Empress. First cousin to King Yevgen of Sarain. Yevgen is Empress Rislyn's younger brother, how many times do I have to tell you that? She's extremely rich. As you see, very pretty." The look on his face was enough to send the miscellaneous Councillor scurrying. 

"That's the first time I've seen our young King even remotely interested in a young lady," Lord Rasoul ventured.

"No, that's the only young lady we've ever seen him even remotely interested in," Matyas corrected, "even five years ago down south." His gaze flicked over to the two young people, having what appeared, to the casual observer, a perfectly ordinary conversation. "But it puzzles me, it really does. Why would they only send her now? Oh, not that argument, Rasoul, if what they truly wanted was a marriage-alliance with us they could have sent her years ago, whether she was of age by their standards or not. If they wanted to see her worth to them before sending her they would have kept her a few more years east. No, there is something else they want, Lord Rasoul, there is something else…"  


	2. Speculations

Speculations

"How was your talk with him?" Radanae asked, setting up a rather impressive array of cosmetics on the side table in her room – most of which would have no more than cursory use during the entire trip. The diplomat, despite being Head of one of the wealthiest and most powerful Houses in the Empire, did not have her own valet. It was an unusual quirk, but one that Odette approved of – for there was no other disguise quite so ideal to infiltrate one's private quarters, no such tempting target for enemies to bribe or blackmail. Besides, as Radanae always said, if she couldn't manage to dress herself, she wasn't worthy of heading a diplomatic mission.

"Fine," Odette was sitting on lushly upholstered divan. It was rather nice, but not to her taste, which ran closer to the decorating school of sheer white drapes, undyed cotton towels and pale oak floorboards. "It's odd, seeing him again after so many years – when we've both changed so much and yet…not." She shook her head, as though amused at the difference half a decade could make. She looked at her superior suspiciously. "You're not just going to tell me just to shag him and get it out of my system _too_, are you?"

"Would you do it even if I did suggest such a course of action?" Radanae tipped a clear liquid onto a square of cotton and wiped her face with it, grimacing as she saw how much fine dust and pollen from the garden still clung to her skin even after washing as best she could in the modest basin and ewer provided. Odette and her companions had been having similar issues, and had nearly driven the servants assigned to the guest quarters mad with their requests for more water. "Who's been giving you advice on your love-life?" she asked curiously. It was odd to think that such an already-famed stateswoman would stoop to lowly gossip, but not when one knew that said stateswoman was also an accomplished spy – for gossip is sometimes even more revealing than a thousand battle plans.

Besides, it made her feel normal. A futile dream.

"Mal…_again_," Odette sighed. It wasn't that Dama Mal'alar'areai S'korta was cutting, exactly, about the state of Odette's romances, but she most definitely did not approve of Odette's first foray. It wasn't xenophobism so much as a belief that unwashed barbarian kings whether from inside the Empire or out were far below the standards of any knight. Sometimes Odette wished for the return of her madcap fellow-lunatic, her first roommate, Renaté-Aemilia, who had died in a riding accident during the summer she had met Liam. But, killjoy about romances or not, Mal was a good enough sort. She _meant_ well. Odette knew that getting involved with barbarian kings from beyond the back of beyond was a seriously bad idea, for all sorts of very good reasons.

Radanae dabbed a finger in a pot of face cream and, looking into the mirror, carefully rubbed it in around her eyes (to prevent crows' feet). It was an optimistic gesture. Most knights didn't _live_ long enough to get crows' feet, even _without_ cosmetic assistance – though most took care of whatever looks they had in any case.

"Rislyn too," Odette added, "but I'm never quite sure what she's angling for."

Radanae muttered something that sounded like "Who is?" as she screwed the lid back onto the cosmetic jar with a gesture of disgust.

Liam did not see Odette the next morning, nor the next afternoon, and it was not for lack of searching. He thought he was being subtle.

He had a lot to learn.

He sat through the meetings with the Imperials in a distracted manner, starting whenever yet another Imperial aide brought in a stack of reports, or maps, or fresh notepaper. At length, though, the preliminaries concluded, the visitors graciously left for the guest quarters, ostensibly to ready themselves for the evening entertainments.

Liam stayed for precisely five minutes while his Council exploded into commentary, and then left without a word.

Duke Matyas watched his nephew go, a concerned expression on his face. Things were moving far too quickly for his liking. It had been less than a day, and yet Liam seemed completely bewitched by a young woman he had not seen for five years, and, even then, only for a very short time.

"Well!" the Patriarch Alepios chortled in delighted tones, at odds with his dignified appearance, "finally, we seem to be getting somewhere!"

It was a measure of quite how desperate the Torenthi Council was for their King to finally marry that not even _that_ worthy was raising the very many substantial objections to the lady – matters connected with religion, propriety, character and other sundry concerns – including the very obvious fact that the lady was perfectly capable of gutting all of them if she was slightly displeased, and would not be at all content to observe the world through the latticed screens of the Women's Quarters, content with providing a nursery of heirs and a solar of exquisite embroidery. No, this was a young lady who was perfectly capable of rule, and, furthermore, expected to do so. It wasn't even clear if she was going to be as capable of the primary duty of a Queen as some of the other candidates – Imperial families seemed small, as a rule, most having just two or three children. She was beautiful, true, and extremely well connected, also true – but there were so many variables about her that Matyas could not help but be concerned.

_Somewhere_ was right, Matyas mused, as he nodded to the enthusiastic priest. He would have preferred to have a better idea as to location, though. He had the unnerving feeling that they'd all just blundered into a labyrinth, without a ball of thread between them.

The guards at the door of the guest wing admitted him with hastily smothered knowing looks. Liam ignored them.

He did not recognise any of the Imperials in the outer room, though all bowed to him, and he saw one depart down the corridor, seemingly to alert others to his presence. He caught looks of concealed bemusement, almost condescension, but on second glance they had all reverted to looks of polite disinterest. He should have been indignant at being sneered at in his own home, but all thoughts of the kind, all thoughts in general, vanished as Odette came into view from the corridor that lead to the inner rooms of the guest wing.

She looked…stunning. She wasn't wearing armour, as she had the previous night, but a long, sleeveless dress in rich purple-blue silk, shot through with threads of indigo, fastened at the shoulders with small silver brooches. She wore no other jewellery except for a filigreed silver ring on the middle finger of her right hand, though a long string of small, perfect white pearls was woven through her hair.

"I'm not on duty tonight," she told him with a soft chuckle, then sent a stern glance over her shoulder.

Behind her, Liam became aware of her peers suddenly becoming engrossed with all sorts of things, like sealing envelopes, polishing glassware, and looking at the tapestries on the walls in an interested fashion. While he knew that, theoretically, Imperials held no special regard for more distant members of the ruling family beyond common courtesy, it appeared that Odette held some sort of authority, at least among the younger members of the party.

"We…ah…should go outside if we want to talk," Odette said, half-hesitantly.

Liam said nothing as he opened the door. The guards outside came smartly to attention with the sort of telltale speed that indicated that they had been listening at the keyhole.

They walked in silence for a while, Liam leading the way through the catacombed Palace to his relatively private gardens, the only place that he could think of that would afford any sort of privacy whatsoever without giving rise to highly unwelcome speculation. The previous evening had been spent in very superficial conversation – how each were, what they had done in the intervening five years, the welfare of their various shared acquaintances, and various other innocuous topics.

"I take it you plan to enter the Empress's diplomatic corps?" Liam began hesitantly. He knew that the overwhelming majority of Imperial diplomats were women, and it would be logical that relatives of the Empress, 'ordinary' knights or not, would rise high in such an organization.

"I may," she replied, "I do not know as yet. I have at least a year of standard military service left in any case. It is very rare to enter the diplomatic service before one's mid-twenties in any case – my honoured superior is highly unusual."

Liam felt that 'highly unusual' didn't even begin to describe the titular head of this embassy, but did not want to mention it.

"I am, technically, only one of her bodyguards here anyway."

Liam knew very well that 'only a bodyguard' would not have the leisure to walk with him, and nor would a 'mere bodyguard' have travelling wardrobe quite so magnificent. He dared to hope that her presence, sanctioned by the Empress, might be an indication that she might not be quite so opposed of 'allowing' a valuable relative to marry out of the Empire, no matter the polite, but very firm tones taken by her brother five years ago to unequivocally reject whatever proposals that Liam might have made.

But, then again, the Imperials were very different from his own people – nobody seemed to think it at all reprehensible, or even took any exception to the fact that Odette had shared his bed the last night before he returned to Torenth from his visit to Sarain – least of all Odette herself. She seemed to regard it as a perfectly ordinary event (part of him cringed at his own choice of words), and had left with barely a word the next morning save to complain that he snored – though it was evident that she'd had as little practical experience as he. Even her cousin – the King of Sarain – had reacted with barely concealed amusement when Liam went to confess his shameful behaviour. Instead of descending into a fit of rage and then demanding that the Torenthi King satisfy the honour of both families by taking Odette to wife immediately, if not before, King Yevgen had replied in tones of polite condescension, making it clear that he knew of the events before Liam had approached him – and making it equally clear that not only did he not have the authority to grant permission for his young cousin to marry, he would not give it even if he had. Beneath the polite words, Liam had felt the unmistakeable implication – a barbarian king had no hope of ever securing an Imperial princess – even though she would never bear that title without several highly disruptive deaths.

The halls were becoming more crowded now, as they walked further into the inner corridors of the Palace. More than once Liam caught the stares of his courtiers and servants at his companion, some speculative, some approving, some _dis_approving, some calculating – even a few blatantly murderous (from potential Queens and their families). Odette affected not to notice, but Liam knew perfectly well that she did.

"I am glad to see Lord Rasoul again," Odette said, in a perfectly level voice, "I understand from Dama Noor that he intends to retire from your service."

_How_ had she known that? Rasoul had only raised the issue with Liam a few months ago, stating that he would like to spend more time with his family.

"Not wholly, to my relief," Liam answered, still feeling a little uneasy. True, Dama  Noor was Rasoul's niece, and an Imperial knight, but he wasn't very comfortable about such information becoming so widely known. "al-Rasoul has simply stated that he desires to spend more time at his personal estates with his grandchildren, and I could not deny him. I am exceedingly glad for his continued wise and measured counsel." He was perfectly aware that he sounded pompous. For the life of him, he could not imagine how his Imperial-trained counterparts could manage to make their formal speech sound refined without sounding forced.

Odette laughed, and it was only then that Liam realized that she had been testing him.

"Of course," she said, unabashed, with an overly artful bat of her eyelashes, a wicked parody of the Lady Olga, one of his most ardent pursuers, who had passed them only a few minutes previous, fury evident in her poisonous smile. "What sort a knight would I be if I did not?"

Liam realized, too late, that the Imperial concept of a 'knight' went somewhat further than Eleven-Kingdom notions of chivalry and courage in battle. It held a measure of deviousness in there too, that he himself would prefer not to see in his underlings.

That didn't mean that he didn't like it in someone else – though, truth be told, he still found it so extraordinary that she was here at all that he would have been equally nonplussed had she confessed to worshipping the Devil and sacrificing babies on a dark altar.

He knew that she wasn't inclined that way though – too hard on clothes, as she had maintained, all those years ago.

The evening entertainment started without the King and one of the Ambassador's off-duty bodyguards.

The Great Hall buzzed with speculation, most of it completely ludicrous.

The King's uncle and the Ambassador herself temporarily left off discussing grape varieties for differing climates to listen, one concerned, the other amused, at the swirling buzz of conversation.

"I do not see Dama Odette here this evening," Matyas began, hoping to drown out the very loud whispering between two grand matrons of the court regarding the dress that they had seen the young knight wearing. Apparently it was quite scandalous. Matyas wondered if his wife would forgive his speculation on the knight's taste in fashion.

"Dama Odette will not be attendant on me tonight," Radanae told him, gently lifting a goblet of white wine from a passing, overawed server. "She has the evening free to do with as she wills."

Matyas raised an eyebrow, not rising to her bait – or the implication that she expected he and every other Torenthi noble to jump to – but, on Matyas's own calculations on both young people, would be highly unlikely. "I hope that she has found what she has seen of Torenth so far to be to her liking?"

"The Empress has always considered it of paramount importance that her young knights have a wide experience of the world, whether within the Empire or not." Radanae didn't answer the question – she smiled as she raised the goblet, knowing that Matyas knew it too.

Matyas raised an eyebrow. It was a while since he'd met someone who played the diplomatic game simply for the sake of playing it – and quite clearly enjoyed it too. Most good diplomats he knew despised the elaborate machinations of social diplomacy – and those who played them games tended to be more transparent than the finest glass.

Radanae Gavrillian, however, didn't so much have the opaque visage of the traditional inscrutable diplomat, but rather resembled a brilliant, sparkling gem – superficially, there was a certain clarity, a clearness, about her  - that one could so easily mistake for her true nature, for sincerity – and Matyas assumed that many, less experienced in the ways of the polished politician, did. But he noticed the thousands, millions of facets to her, each of which reflected and refracted everything around her that one was never sure of her true intentions or her thoughts.

The traditional diplomat had flat, unreadable, expressionless eyes – but this woman's sparkled with intelligence, life – and yet were completely inscrutable – what Matyas saw was less a reflection of her own thoughts, than his own, staring right back at him. It was quite alarming, really. He met that unnerving gaze calmly, hoping that his own curiosity did not show. Was that a quality that was unique to this woman, or was it some part of the training that the Empire gave to its diplomats? Previous Imperial diplomats had generally been equally unreadable, but most had displayed the more conventional polite inscrutable manner, but equally, they had never been accompanied by an eminently eligible, beautiful princess who quite obviously had his nephew enthralled – and whose memory had done so for years previous.

"Actually, _I_ asked Rislyn if I could come, when I found out that Radanae was taking over this sector again."

Liam tilted his head, his question unspoken – though the admission that she had requested to come on this journey to his kingdom was strangely heartening.

"It has been…far too long since I've been able to travel, the…problems last time or no." It was darkening, and the servants, respecting their King's privacy, had not yet come to light the lamps. Of course, that respect did not extend to staying out of earshot, and both Odette and Liam knew that there were any number of possible listeners just out of their line of sight, ostensibly polishing the vases. "It was good to see Yevgen and Kalasin again – they have a son now, did you know?"

"Prince Ioan," Liam offered, trying not to make the apparently huge difference between the two intelligence services too obvious.

"Just Ioan," Odette corrected, seeing through his attempt, "we're not terribly enthusiastic on bestowing titles on minors." She was baiting him again, knowing that he'd had a list of titles longer than his arm for half his life.

He refused to rise to the challenge. "I hope you've liked what you've seen so far," he ventured, realizing the lateness of the hour, that the courtyard garden was growing chilly, even though it was high summer, and that they would most definitely be missed in whatever boredom-inducing evening function was amusing his courtiers.

It didn't _take_ much to amuse his courtiers.

"Very nice," Odette said, "very nice – you've got a very pleasant home."

"What do you think?" there was only one other first-year knight in the party besides Odette, assigned to the mission by the specific request of its head, and quite a bit of string-pulling by the same.

Radanae was odd among knights in that she still kept a close eye on the Academy, on the up-and-coming cadets, instead of just watching the final scores and rankings in the final-years. It seemed that she always knew exactly which new knights to request come into her service, and, to date, all parties had benefited from the experience. Radanae managed to have competent help that was eager to learn, and young knights were taught by a dedicated teacher who believed firmly in the importance of practical experience, and plenty of it. However, it was rare that Radanae would request that someone postpone their 'standard' military year for a year to come with her on a diplomatic posting, instead of waiting for their bare minimum year of traditional military service to be over before sending the letter that all diplomatically-minded young knights waited eagerly to get.

However, this year, the second-year knight that Radanae had intended take the position as her 'apprentice' had fallen ill practically on the eve of their departure. After promising the girl that she would have her opportunity the next year, Radanae faced the quandary of knowing that her careful plans had been rather unpleasantly ruffled – she had a pretty good idea of whom she would request for the next four or five years, after all – so after a few words with the various interested parties, she had managed to swap the intended apprentice and take the one she intended for the following year. It meant that Dama Mal'alar'arei would have to start her traditional military service a year behind her peers, but Mal didn't mind.

"About what? The negotiations with the Torenthis, or the situation with Odette?"

"Either…both."  Radanae went to her desk and picked up a pile of papers.

"On the first, they haven't done their research properly. On the second, I think she's being wholly juvenile."

"Oh?"

"I don't know what she thinks she's doing, but, childhood fling or not, the Torenthis have rather different views on that sort of thing, as you know, Dama, than we – for all we know, they might think that she's proposing marriage, and who knows what sort of mess that's going to wind us up in."

"I think they know perfectly well that our ways are different," Radanae said calmly, "we made that quite clear five years ago when he asked to marry her."

Mal wrinkled her nose in distaste, "He asked to marry her when she was fourteen?"

"Thirteen and eleven months and odd days," Radanae corrected, "but their legal age for a girl is menarche, after all." She frowned, "No, that's not entirely correct. I don't think that _have_ a legal minimum age – that's just the traditional minimum, I think, with mid-teens being more common."

Mal's expression clearly stated what she thought of that method of determining the minimum age for marriage, and the 'suitable' age for marriage. For most knights, the relevant ages were the Midsummer after their eighteenth birthdays, and their late twenties, respectively.

"So what's she playing at? It's an awfully long way to come for a quick tumble in the sheets."

"It is," Radanae agreed, "but with Delmarans, who can ever know? Now, can you read through these proposals from the Torenthis regarding trade tariffs and see which ones are compatible with the Importation Duties Act passed in the 6th year of the reign of Berenice VI and the guidelines set out by Ris before we left?" With Mal still blinking at the sudden change in the subject matter, she loaded up the younger woman's arms with the proposals, the hefty legislation, and Rislyn's neat instructions, before sending her out of the room.

"But you already know which ones are suitable, just by reading through them the first time."  Mal turned back towards her superior.

"I do." The diplomat nodded, "but that's not the point. The point of the exercise is that you do.' She stopped and smiled – or, the corners of her mouth turned up and some of her teeth were showing, "Goodnight. Tell me the answers over breakfast tomorrow."

The younger knight left the room having the oddest feeling that a lot more had gone on than was readily apparent. She knew that the Torenthis were a lot more perturbed than her about the feeling, for which she was glad.

She would, however, be a good deal happier when the day came that she could do it to someone else.

_Notes: _

_For those new to this world, my Imperials tend to speak as though they've wandered out of a BBC period film set in the 19th century – for example, Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in the 1995 production of 'Pride and Prejudice' is a fairly good approximation of the accent and speech inflections of most of 'my' male characters – so in order to convey more casual speech, especially for younger characters, I'll be endeavoring to use modern English/British (not necessarily the same thing, apparently) slang whenever possible. Please feel free to correct me if I get it wrong – for some reason the Strine (Australian slang) I'm more familiar with doesn't quite suit the characters. _

_If you are not familiar with my earlier works, the kingdom of Sarain (property of American author Tamora Pierce), Liam's southern neighbour, is ruled by King Yevgen and Queen Kalasin (also property of Tamora Pierce). Yevgen is Odette's maternal first cousin, the younger brother of the Empress Rislyn. Presently, he is twenty-eight years old, and has been King of Sarain for just under eight years. He and his twin sister Princess Berenice (always called Kay) are very good friends of Radanae Gavrillian. Their story is covered in the 'Kalasin' trilogy.  _

_Noor al-Jedin is Lord Rasoul's niece (daughter of a sister), who was educated, and knighted in the Empire as a result of some obscure treaty between her very important R'Kassi family and the Empire. She lives in the Empire, where the Empress has granted her an estate, and visits her family only when she is either feeling guilty about not doing so, or when more information on the seriously complex family relationships of the Eleven Kingdoms is required. _

For those curious about the beauty regime of an Imperial knight, the face cream Radanae is using is made from a mixture of beeswax, sweet almond oil, rose, orange and lavender essential oils, and cocoa butter. It smells rather like very expensive confectionery. Different proportions make different things – more beeswax and cocoa butter, and less oil, will make a sort of lip balm. She wiped her face beforehand with a blend of witchazel and rosewater. If you're into that sort of thing, I recommend you try the latter – I find that it works as well as, if not better, than most commercial toners (cheaper too!). 

For previews, updates alerts, discussion, outtakes, PWP snippets and random silliness, please come and join my mailing list/ discussion group at 


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